


Truth & Consent

by Pseudonaut



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Episode: s10e08 The Lie of the Land, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Other, Propaganda, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11289663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pseudonaut/pseuds/Pseudonaut
Summary: He was unsure why he stopped using his title to address Earth. Shame, guilt. Perhaps, past his cynicism, he was afraid of breaking their hearts. But as he imagined the warm glow of the television sets, or the hum of static tickling ears from radios across the world as the Monks enforced their love. The Time Lord couldn't help but smile proudly.





	Truth & Consent

**Author's Note:**

> I was underwhelmed by The Lie of The Land, despite enjoying it. I felt the pacing was off but most of all I felt the idea of Twelve truly being this evil, Big Brother type figure, actually making up, believing in his propaganda and also believing in the Monks, as it was implied we'd see, was wasted. Even if the scenes when we thought he was were fantastic. So I decided to write about just that.
> 
> Enjoy.

 Each tear and crumple of paper kept him just a little more awake. The mundane life now lead of scratching ink on paper, only to throw it beneath his feet to be crushed under his heels. But, once in awhile, through writing almost the same thing day in, day out -- there was the thrill of his chair, swiveling into action against the build up of dust, and towards the camera.

"You've all had such troubled upbringings." The Doctor's thick Scottish accent beamed across the world. The thought of how it sounded through translation made a straight set of teeth show in a grin. "But every young species, like the young adult themselves, will go through change. Puberty, growth spurts. And who was there to guide you along? Measure you? A cooling palm along your burning brow when you felt that little bit poorly?"

The Doctor span around in his chair, excitedly zooming back towards his desk to grab one of the many Monk figurines he kept. Never before had he witnessed something so beautifully crafted. Silver shining against the miniature chandeliers serving as the room's ceiling light while he polished the statuette on a worn sleeve of his dark grey jacket.

It reminded him of when he visited Paris for the 1889 World's Fair. Even seeing it millions of times, the infant Eiffel Tower left one of his past faces in awe. And yet, the Monk statues managing to tower over the human creation that felt like little more than a tribute. A school-child's painting that parents hang on the fridge. A display of how far the Monks had taken the species he was bound to protect all.

Unless -- they weren't there? His mind's memories muddled still, wanting, begging to accept this perfection crafting it's way across Earth. Forgetting things was a familiar addiction, it seemed. Clara. Even that faceless name was so hard to cling too. Slipping off his fingers like the banded ring he played with.

"I think," The man continued as he made his way back to the camera on his chair, now going off script, making his voice slightly quieter. "-I think, the next time you go out, walk your dog, go to get your assigned clothes cleaned, or just pop out to say hello to the ever brave Memory Police. Look up, in the sky. Because nothing compares to the warmth you'll feel from the shadow of the statues."

He sprung back into action as his free hand picked up his script, now creased slightly from the weight of the metal figurine. The Doctor chuckled slightly before inching back in close to the camera, his cloudy, steely blue eyes reflected off the aperture. Tired, wrinkled features holding two curled eyebrows painted a powerful picture of the pseudo-propaganda minister.

Now his finale was prepared, the stage set, butterflies in his stomach. "I was saved from my past life. Travelling and making messes until I was blinded. And I should say literally, I actually did go blind." The Doctor went off a tangent already, a past habit he never did seem to kick. At least he thought it was. The Time Lord was beginning to forget his past selves, past friends probably watching along with the world -- Not knowing it was  _him_. What he had done. "-But I was saved. A...companion. A martyr, gave me sight in more ways than one. But also gave it to the rest of the world as well."

His smile went to fondness as he looked quickly back to the smudged ink on paper.

"Even then, the Monk's influence shone bright, shone true. So be happy! Thank the Monks. And remember to leave your electronic devices on for the next broadcast."

A head full of lies bowed, repeating what he did every time. "So, relax. Do as you're told. Your future is taken care of..." His grin came back with aplomb, a hybrid of malice and kindness. A metaphor for their false despotism. Even if the old man's mind rejected reality.

On cue, he heard a click as the camera switched off behind it's protective glass shield. With a squeak, he leaned back in his seat, kicking his way back to the front of his desk. The script was stored with the best of his daily broadcasts, the cabinet holding them almost overflowing to a tipping point. An extension would be needed soon. Or a new desk.

 _Epsilon_.

 _Fire_.

 _Jupiter_.

 _Lily_.

The glossy maroon telephone tempted him. Hand hovering over it now. Just wanting to be in their presence again. This raw feeling of happiness rose in his throat. Or, the Doctor thought it was happiness -- but it seemed far too emotional. The only other alien left on Earth. Trapped.

Oh, Missy. Still serving her years. Maybe she didn't even know what had happened to the world. Maybe that was more comforting than not.

But the time to fret over friends would come later. He did have all the time in the world, after all. Even with the absence of the TARDIS. Books to rewrite, movies to censor. More than proud to do it. Honored. For now, he was content, comfortable in his domain, rewriting Shakespeare's Julius Caesar.

 

* * *

 

Bill felt void as the broadcast ended. The static on the screen before the Truth logo that was trapped in her mind's eye appeared was stick in her head long after the Doctor vanished. The steam rising from her coffee served as distraction as light caught in it's folds. She was unsure just why she wanted to stay awake.

She couldn't help but think Nardole was out there, guarding that vault, still loyal. Going back to check proved impossible. Either she'd be right and they'd be stuck -- or she'd be wrong and she'd still be stuck alone. Giving in felt more viable everyday. No one to talk to that wasn't indoctrinated, finding comfort in a mother that wasn't even there. 

The idealism and monotony of every day was a reflection of this, like the window she peered out of, looking at the statues. Just like he wanted her too. In between eyes fixed on here television screen, waiting to see the Doctor. Because she never truly could forget. All the things she'd seen, places he took her. Maybe, if she prayed hard enough, the Monks would keep those memories, just for her. 

A mother by her side, a friend comforting her day in and day out on her screen. Another friend, doing his duty, protecting the Earth from whatever was under the university. Protecting, just like the Monks. Was this it? After all these months? Just, giving in?

Looking up at her mother from the coffee, tears forming in her eyes. "What do I do, mum?.. How do I stop this? How do I even start to just move on?.."

The fragment of the woman didn't respond. She _never_ responded. Bill downed her coffee in a steady gulp, the burn against her throat did more to wake her than the caffeine ever could. This was it. The bitter end, the fight was over. Placing her mug down against the wooden table she took one last look to the world from a pane of glass.

Ready or not.

Stepping outside felt new, even if she had done it earlier that day. The cool breeze carried her past people wearing the same black or green attire. Free will, individuality -- gone. But as Bill stepped into the shadow the colossus statue of the world's liberators made she realized that was alright.

Because she truly did feel warm under them. 

 

* * *

 

"-So, always remember the three Rs: Respect, Rules and Rank." The Doctor spoke in a comforting tone at the camera, smiling warmly into the lens. "Respect is what we show for one another, what the Monks give us everyday. Rules are what we follow, and what the Monks provide, of course." He chuckled a bit, the fairly childish lectures felt necessary for anyone to understand that was watching.

He rubbed his knuckles with his thumb, thinking of River Song. That night on Derilium still hadn't left his mind. How grateful they both were to the Monks that built the Singing Towers. At least, that's what he remembered. Through all his travels, burning across the galaxy, the Monks seemed to follow. But the thought of them treating other races how they have humanity was blissful, even if it was fleeting.

It seemed even he wasn't free from their neural relay. Another comfort considering how many Zygons could still be left of Earth. Even more comforting was how UNIT wasn't even needed anymore. The Memory Police served that purpose. As much as he appalled violence, he still admired effectiveness.

"Finally, rank. Do not interrupt the Memory Police. Even we need to chip in and help the Monks. But if you have any concerns of a certain neighbor of friend...do tell your local officer. Because you're all a big family. And even families squabble, after all."

The Doctor wondered when it was his turn to forget, if he ever would. The pain, the gaps in his mind before the Monks were never truly thinning like the rest. But wherever they were they weren't. He'd carry that burden for Earth. Even when his legs gave out and his spine started to break. Always and forever, it seemed.

"There's a lesson to be learnt from you even needing the Memory Police. The Monks came and nurtured humanity for the reason. The potential they saw in you was...beautiful. So remember, relax. Do as you're told. You're future is taken care of." He closed, wishing he could say the same for himself, when-

Click. The red light indicating a live recording dimmed like the stars in the early hours of the morning. But a fleeting wave of relief followed it for him.

The camera shut down, just as expected, leaving the Doctor to rub his hands over his sagging face, closing his eyes with their fall onto his lap, making a slap bounce across the walls. And hitting hard the now useless script. Scooting over to the shelves, he saw the sheets of paper stacked high overflowing like an avalanche, leaving him to place this one he carried onto a neat pile of the floor. Next to the second and third.

Real thoughts taking over, like pebbles being dragged by a high tide back into the sea. He missed the ocean. Even if it carried him he never felt the need to go out his office. But sometimes, when he meditated, he could feel the rocking of the ship that carried his office push his body with it. Slow and steady, gently and loving. Just like him. Like the Monks. Maybe he could ask for more photos from before their reign. 

 _Epsilon_.

 _Fire_.

 _Jupiter_.

 _Lily_.

Why couldn't he just call them? Let them hear him? He wasn't scared, even if their appearance was off putting. It felt like a student going to teacher and telling them who was bullying them. And the Doctor had quite enough of that at the academy.

He could barley stomach the thoughts anymore. It was like a sea sickness. Standing, and stretching slightly, he stepped away from his desk, dizzy as he did but looking at his wall. The three of them were there, framed. By the orange glow of the console. Nardole, himself and Bill. The sacrifices he made for them. The ones they made for him.

The Doctor was unable to muster the strength to even inquire about Bill yet. But he wanted to thank her, for letting him rest for once in his life. She saved humanity, and she'll forget she ever did. Ironically, he'd know that for the rest of time when she wouldn't. When Bill Potts is dead and buried, he'll remember. Their travels, their laughs echoing off the TARDIS.

The Doctor never really could forget. Even when the rest of humanity could, and they were shepherded by a better species than even the Time Lords.

And that broke his hearts just a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any criticism or even want to see this continued please do comment, I would love to read your feedback.
> 
> -
> 
> I listened to the unreleased suite for the episode writing this. The Monk Trilogy absolutely nailed the music. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C4aeHnOh3Fk


End file.
